Matt Sedillo

BIO

Matt Sedillo is an LA based poet.

Storm warnings

When it finallyAll goes downWhen the titanicFinally sinksWhen there is nowhereLeft to
hide the money When the alps
finally meltWhen SwitzerlandBecomes a barren desertAnd the CaymansAre buriedMiles belowSea levelThe fortune five hundredWill set upTax sheltersOn the moon

A storm is brewingFrom the winds of
FukushimaFrom the ash of
three mile islandFrom criminal negligenceFrom the killing
plunder You can
hear the distant thunderStrip the earth to
feed industryRip from the countryTo please the citySqueeze the cityTo
engorge the capitalMake weapons capableOf
destroying the planetTurn profitFrom monstrous tankersMake poison the oceanFactories that
darken the skiesAnd a storm is
brewingFrom the ghosts of BhopalFrom the graveyard
of Exxon ValdesFrom the soot that
is rising Out of an industrial
revolutionA commercial revolutionA Chevy revolutionInviting you toJoin the mad
chorus As the rubber
hits the roadFrom the fallOf the rain forestShowThoseWho would liveIn natural rhythmVillagesThat would raise childrenTo the tuneOf a rain drop’sSong The savageryModern manIs capable ofLet them knowThat a storm is a
cominThat a hard acid rain is going
to fallFrom the Yellow
RiverTo the Niger DeltaTo the CuyahogaFrom the holesIn the o zoneOver New DelhiMexico cityAnd CairoFrom the geological
crime sceneOf the river GangesTo the bitter
harvestOf terminator seedsFrom the mountain
topsChopped offIn the heartOf AppalachiaFrom the Canadian
tar sandsTo the coal seams
of the badlandsThe polluted streams of
GaslandThere is nowhere to runNowhere to hideNo noNot this timeAnd a storm is
a brewingAnd you had best bewareFor what profits a manShould he
gain the worldBut cannot breathe its’ airAnd this
is no way to live Because this landThis skyThe seaWas madeFor you and for meFor us and for weFor them and for
theyWho are not yet bornWho have yet to hearA single rain drops songAnd our hearts are
stirringOur feet are marchingThe choir is
rising So to those who wouldTurn this earthTo wastelandOur homeTo landmineTo save a nickelOr scrape thin dimesWith their eyes setOn mountains of
profit Well you had bestBatten down the hatchesCross your fingersAnd lock your doorsBecause a storm is brewingAnd you haveBeen warned